“Certainly. And I know how long you’ve been coming here to the cañon. I know where you live, too—down on the flats by the river.” His slow, amused smile at her evident discomfiture was engaging. It disarmed Nance, made her feel more than ever an intruder. “I know what lost waifs you must think us—and you are partly right. We are. I’ve watched you with Sonny twice, and I have not removed our camp—if such it could be called—because I didn’t think you’d talk.” “I haven’t,” said Nance, “except to my own family.” “Since you have found us out,” he went on, “I shall tell you that Sonny is not the neglected little cast-off that you must naturally think him. I have hidden him here for a purpose. We have a purpose, the boy and I, and we have traveled many miles in its pursuit. We do seem mysterious—but we’re not so greatly so, after all. I try to care for him as best I may when I must be so much away from him. If it wasn’t for Dirk I couldn’t leave him as I do.” “He’s well protected,” said Nance, “I used Sonny himself to betray the dog. I couldn’t do otherwise.” “I know something of it—Sonny didn’t tell me, but I saw the signs of your scuffle. It was printed plain in the sand and shale.” “No—Sonny didn’t tell,” said Nance regretfully, “and I made him a liar—when I didn’t mean to. I asked him not to tell you that I’d been here. I was afraid you’d take him away. I didn’t think you’d ask him point blank.” “I’ve taught the boy not to talk,” said the man—“it’s a vital necessity to us.” “He doesn’t. I couldn’t find out a thing, for all I wheedled shamelessly, except that you were Brand, and that you two ride always on Diamond there.” “My name is Fair, Miss Allison—Brand Fair, and that is Sonny’s name also. But—we don’t tell it to strangers.” He smiled at her again, a slow creasing of the lines about his lips, a pleasant narrowing of his eyes. “Then I—” there was an elemental quality of gladness in Nance’s voice, though she was utterly unconscious of it, “am not a stranger?” “You are Sonny’s friend,” he replied, “and we give you our trust.” The girl swallowed once and tightened her hold on the child’s thin shoulders. There was something infinitely pathetic, infinitely intriguing in this situation, and it gripped her strongly. “I—thank you,” she said awkwardly, “I’ll not betray it.” “I’m sure you won’t,” said Brand Fair, “and for the present, if you’ll accept us at our face value, we’ll be mighty glad—eh, Sonny?” “I’ve been glad all the time,” said Sonny fervently, “and so’s Dirk.” “Ingrates!” laughed the man. “Here I’ve shared my poor substance with you two for—a very long time—and at the first bribe of meat and kisses you turn me down cold!” “Oh!” cried Nance, flushing, “you know _all_ about us!” “It’s my business to know all about one who invades my solitude, isn’t it?”